


These Moments

by The_Onyx_Moon



Series: From the Outside [9]
Category: Destroyer (2018)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, F/M, Gang Violence, Partners to Lovers, Police, Smut, Smut and Angst, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, comforting anxiety, undercover cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Onyx_Moon/pseuds/The_Onyx_Moon
Summary: He was supposed to be your partner.  Nothing more.  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.





	These Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I’m posting this one a little later in the day! My mom came in town and so I got a teensy bit behind in writing!  
> Also, I gave Chris the last name Dest because his last name is never actually mentioned and I’m unoriginal.

He was your partner, nothing more.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

And he wasn’t even the partner you’d been with for the last several years. Just some F.B.I. agent they’d paired you with to take down some big crime boss. It wasn’t his first rodeo, he’d been undercover before. He knew what he was doing.

And so did you.

You were good at your job, damn good. You didn’t let anything compromise your work and you had no one to return home to at night that kept you from being a hero.

Chris Dest is good at his job, too.

Cool, calculated, and slips into the role of ‘jaded gang member’ far too easily.

And you are a professional, damn it!

Past cases had been easier than this one. More open and shut, cut and dry. This case? Well, this gang had their stash and their men a little more spread out - meaning you and Chris couldn’t make any arrests or raids until everything and everyone had substantial evidence piled against them.  Lest you have a rerun of your last case…

You were always a bit of a black sheep back at the precinct.  Your childhood wasn’t as pristine as others’ on the force - in fact, you’d even stolen a cop car before being scared straight in juvie.  Because of your past, and gender, a lot of the guys on the force didn’t take you seriously.  No matter how many perps you brought in, how many drug rings you brought down, you were still treated like an inept child.  You did your best not to let it get to you but your years on the force had grown long, exhausting.  You didn’t know how many more orphaned kids you could handle.  How many parents you would have to question and bring in to identify their child who’d just chosen the wrong side of the law.  How many kids that were just like you but didn’t get the chance to make it better.

You couldn’t do this anymore, so when they offered you this case, you’d taken it without hesitation.  Just the right amount of danger to make you feel alive before you ended it all.  You could go down swinging, maybe take a few criminals dow with you, and the possibility to tag a ‘hero’ title on your epitaph didn’t seem so bad either.

But then they’d attached Chris to the case, and all your plans went out the window.

He was stone cold when you first met - had seen too many good men go down to develop an attachment to his newest partner.  You went over your stories - how you met, where you both grew up, what your name was.  You’d considered giving him a fake name - considered becoming this new person for the case - but something about him made you want to open up and pour every dark secret into his lap.  You quickly clamped down on that particular feeling and opted for just giving him your real name.

You were to infiltrate the gang together - your relationship a bit ambiguous - 'up to you’ according to your captain - and the two of you had decided on some bullshit like best friends since childhood.  The kind of best friend that would take a bullet for you.  If you were being honest with yourself, you’d rather the cover story be a little bit more…romantic.  I mean, you weren't blind.

Chris was one of the more handsome partner’s you’d had.  Not a model by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a frame that brought wicked thoughts to your head.  Pretty pink lips hidden under a dusting of stubble - and even after he got the close shave hair cut, you itched to run your fingers through his ever so slightly curly chestnut hair and the slight dabbling of gray.

He was intoxicating.

A stone cold cop who did what he needed to get shit done.

Maybe that was why you were drawn to him.

Because he was the exact opposite of you.

* * *

 The first time you realize you’re developing feelings for him is one of the most cliche moments of your life.

You're tipsy, but acting more than drunk for the benefit of the other dangerous men in the room.  Chris is across the room, 'rolling’ on some bullshit ecstasy placebo.  You’d made the mistake of mentioning that you’d rather actually get inebriated like the rest of the gang, but Chris had jumped down your throat with the many obvious reasons as to why you couldn’t.  Still, you both put on a show whenever drugs or drinking was involved.

So when Chris - stone sober - looked your way mid-laugh and smiled at you like you were the only woman in the room, you were a little disarmed.

You blush.

You, a fucking cop, blush.

He could’ve blamed it on the ecstasy if he were actually tripping.  Could’ve told you that it was all part of the act.  But then you cornered him later that evening - somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom - and asked him if everything was ok.

“What the fuck was that about?"  Ok, so maybe your wording was a little heavier handed than you meant, but you may have taken a few more sips of actual alcohol to calm your nerves after his look.

"What’re you talkin’ about, Y/L/N?"  His voice is low, his hands on your hips as he tries to calm you down.  You try not to let it throw you.

"What was with the way you were lookin’ at me, Dest."  He shushes you, hand clamped tight over your mouth.  Your eyes flash at the sudden restraint and the way he’s glowering down at you.

"I dunno, kid…you just…"  He trails off, fingers flexing against your cheek as he absentmindedly tucks his lower lip between his teeth.  His eyes fill with something you can’t name for a beat, maybe two, then he’s putting distance between you as he practically melds with the wall behind him.  "I dunno.  I was just lookin’."  Then he was gone, leaving you slack-jawed and confused in the dark hallway.

* * *

The next time, you’re inches away from death. 

Literally.

The son of a bitch that this gang calls a leader has shot the man next to you for touching his girl.

Even for someone so used to it all, you jumped and screeched as his corpse collapsed at your side.  Across the room, Chris’s eyes snapped your way and a moment later he was hauling you away from the pandemonium.

He doesn’t care who’s watching as he paws all over you, questioning if you were hurt.  You’re so rattled you’re not sure how to answer as you stare into the cold eyes of the man who just shot his so-called 'friend’.  Maybe you weren’t made out for this whole undercover thing.  Maybe you weren’t so keen on dying.  Maybe -

"Y/N.  Baby.  Talk to me.  Are you hurt?"  His eyes are intense as they stare into your very soul, something leering at you from inside as he does his best to stay professional.

"N-no, I don’t…Chris, he-"  You’re babbling, bile playing up your throat as some peons start to move the body.  You feel so helpless.  You can’t make an arrest.  You can’t fight back.  You can’t -

"I know baby."  Chris.  Chris is here.  Chris is safe.  You’re too rattled to pick up on the new pet name.  "Just focus on me, yeah?”

So you do.

You swivel towards him, your head swimming with adrenaline and fear as his palms come up to cup your cheeks.  Instinct takes over, and some training, as you reach for him.  Eyes slide shut as you reach for his face, fingers settling against his cheeks.  Reassociation - a trick your friend had taught you when your anxiety attacks had gotten particularly bad.

Chris’s palms on your skin.  The tickle of the scruff of his cheeks against the pads of your fingers.  The sweat on the back of your neck.  Chris’s breath against your skin.  Things you feel.

The deep timbre of Chris’s constant coos.  The commotion behind you.  Chris’s breathing.  Things you hear.

Cigarette smoke.  Copper, no blood - wait, not that.  Please, not that -

“There we go."  He soothes, not bothering to remove your hands from his skin.  Your eyes remain closed, ignorant to the way he’s staring at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.  "There we go, baby.”

“Oh for the love of God."  Donny, one of your 'friends’ groans when he looks over at the two of you.  "Best friends, my ass.  Would you two fuck already and get it over with!”

Suddenly, the calm, soft bubble you’d built around the two of you pops and you’re pulling away like Chris  _burns_.

As you run from the room, giving some excuse of ‘gotta go wash this fuckin blood off me’, you miss the way he gazes after you.  He gets enough shit about it from the guys to make him glower.

* * *

Finally, it comes to a head.

An all out argument at your shared apartment when he asks you why you’re so fucking attached to this case.

“That’s my business, Dest.  Not yours.”  You snap, spinning on your heel.  A large hand clamps down on your bicep and you find there’s no escaping his strength.  Not when he’s looking at you like  _that_.  Like he’s gonna haul off and take a bite off you.  You’re not sure you mind the thought…

“It became my business when you nearly got yourself found out!  What the fuck were you thinking?!  Donny could’ve killed you!”

“Yeah, well, I would’ve taken him down with me.”  A beat passes as you glare at each other, neither backing down.  “Fucker had it coming.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“Why not?!  If I hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve raped that poor girl!”  He knows you’re right, but god he wishes you weren’t.  “I wasn’t going to let her get hurt.  I don’t care if he’d killed me, I’m gonna die anyway!  But god damn it, no one is going to get hurt while I sit on the sidelines!  Not again!”

Your word vomit comes to a screeching halt at the admittance and you wish you could shove it all back inside and swallow it down to the dark depths it came from.

Chris stops, his eyes widening as he looks at you.

“What do you mean, Y/L/N?”  Silence.  “Y/N.”

“My partner.  She…”  You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, fists falling open at your sides as the fight just leaves you.  “I couldn’t protect her.  I couldn’t stop her.  She was just as stubborn as I can be.  She couldn’t just watch those girls get hurt.”

“The Rylie case…”  Realization dawns on those handsome features, the pieces all falling into place.

The human trafficking ring bust that had gone to hell in a handbasket two years ago.  The last case you’d worked.  The one that everyone knew about because two headstrong,  _women_  cops who couldn’t keep their emotions in check.  Your partner had seen enough.  She stormed in, guns hot, to save the little girls who she couldn’t stand to see suffer anymore.  It all came down in flames after that.  Your partner dead on the sidewalk, you stuck in a shoot out while half of the brains behind the ring got away.

By saving the few, she’d damned the many.

And you had been no help whatsoever.

“That wasn’t your fault.”  Chris soothes.  You scoff in his face.

“How?  It was just because we couldn’t keep our cool.  Some shit cops who let our emotions get the better of us.”

“Good cops.”  He corrects, pulling you closer when you try to escape again.  “Good cops who wanted to protect those little girls.”

“But -”

“Your partner had to go and play the hero.”  He sighs.  “It happens, too often, and it sucks.  To see good people go down like that, it isn’t your fault.  But it doesn’t make you weak.  You couldn’t have known what she would do.”

Green eyes stare into your own, silence resounding in the small space.

“How do you know I won’t do the same?”  You challenge, all bark.  The fight has long since deflated in your chest.  “How do you know I won’t go be the hero.”

“Don’t.”  One word.  One perfectly broken word that cracks in his throat as he digs his fingers into your hips and drags you to him.  The first feel of his lips shoots through your whole body.  A kiss that’s more teeth and passion than finesse melts you together.  It’s only when he’s pulling back that your breathing resumes.  “Please, Y/N.  Don’t be the hero.”

“Why not?”  You whisper, brushing his nose with your own as you wind your hands behind his neck.

“I couldn’t live with that…”  He sighs, forehead to your own.  “Don’t be the hero.  Survive this.  Survive this with me.”  

“And after?”  Chapped lips find yours again, feet moving with a mind of their own.  The bed nudges the back of your legs before you know it.

“We can go from there.”  He says, pushing you to the mattress.  “Together.”

You smile at that, tugging him to you, fingers fumbling with his belt.  The predatory look he fixes you with when you pull him free and pump him a few times makes your skin tingle.  As does the moan he gifts you when you twist your fist along his shaft.

“Promise?”  Innocent as you can muster, you stare at him, tongue peeking through lips and licking up the salty stretch of skin.  A unison moan when he digs his fingers into your scalp at the action.

“I will if you do.”

“Say it.”  You demand, hands raised as he rids you of your own clothes.  With a hiss as he slides home, you dig your nails into his skin.

Endless eyes bore into you, those words engraining themselves in your brain.

“I promise.”

* * *

“I kept my promise, you bastard.”  Your voice catches on a inhale, eyes snapping shut to keep it all in.  “Why didn’t you?”  Sorrow itches at the back of your throat, unshed tears burning your eyes.  You’d kept your promise indeed.  Lived through the end of the case to see an early retirement.  A successful case, thanks to you and Chris.  One less gang off of the street.

You follow Chris, to L.A. where you take a desk job away from the action and where you can breathe again.  You two date on and off, things always coming between you.

But he’s always there when you need him.

Until he isn’t.

Another case pops up, lands squarely in his lap, and even though you beg him not to, he takes it.

Another undercover case where he has to disappear off the radar for months on end.  It leads to another breakup.

The last one.

He wasn’t yours when Silas guns him down in that bank.

Wasn’t yours when he stares into the barrel of the gun that takes his life.

Erin is there at the funeral, offering condolences to his other past partners.  She’s as hardened and quiet as you.

When she comes to stand at your side, it’s silent for the first few minutes.  Neither of you is sure how to broach the difficult subject that is Chris.

She promises nothing had happened between them.  Only an act that they put on for Silas and the boys.  Never behind closed doors.  Never like you and Chris were.

You want to think you believe her, but you’ll never know.

She leaves you after that.  Leaves you alone, standing at the foot of his freshly covered grave with the promise that she’s going to find the man that did this and make him fucking pay.

You make her promise that she will.  You make her say the words ‘I promise.’

Just like Chris had said to you.

And with no one left to hold you to  _your_ promise, you offer her your assistance.

“It’ll be dangerous.”  She had warned.  “A suicide mission.  No room for heroes.”  It makes you smile.

“Good,” the air dances in front of your face - visible in the cool air of the graveyard.  A flower finds it’s way to the stone that reads his name.  You don’t have to keep your promise anymore.  “I’m no fuckin hero.”


End file.
